


The Morning After

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-25
Updated: 2006-02-25
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8065219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Trip acts (sort of) on a conversation with Dr. Phlox. Postep, 1.16 "Shuttlepod One." (08/10/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

With a startled shiver, Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker bolted upright, to find himself in a bed in sickbay.

"Ahhh! Commander. So nice of you to rejoin us," came the optimistic chirp of the ship's Chief Medical Officer, "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to thaw out."

"Thanks, Doc. I think I'll be okay, but I could sure use something for my head."

"Yes, Mr. Reed mentioned that you had but a blanket and a bottle of...ummmm...borbon? to keep you warm."

"Bourbon. And even that didn't help much."

"Well, let me see what I've got here," replied Phlox.

"Oh, and Doc?"

"Yes?"

"Could you make a remedy that _doesn't_ involve the secretions of some hitherto unsuspected species of slug?"

Phlox smiled his queer, "am-I-doing-this-smile-thing-right?" smile.

"I'll see what I can do."

Trip groaned his thanks and lowered himself back onto the bed.

The cool of the pillow made the pain recede slightly.

"You know, Commander, you've had a bit of company while you were unconscious."

"I think I heard Malcom talking with the Captain and Sub-Commander T'Pol, at one point, but I couldn't muster up the energy to open my eyes."

"I understand. You survived quite the ordeal. And to be picked up with barely two hours of oxygen left. Remarkable.

"But that's not what I meant."

Trip's hungover brain took a few seconds to process that.

"There were more visitors?"

"Yes. Well, let's say there was one visitor two more times."

"One visitor, two _more_ times?" Trip's brow wrinkled with the effort to follow that through to its logical conclusion. The doctor looked on with amusement. He could practically see the clouds parting as Trip put it together.

"Two _more_ times. So it was either Jon, or T'Pol. But Jon is certainly not a mother hen."

"Mother hen?" inquired Phlox.

"That's when someone watches over you, usually too closely, to make sure you're alright."

"I see," acknowledged Phlox. "And you're right, it was the Sub-Commander, but I don't think she was being a mother hen. I doubt she would even recognize the  
concept."

"Maybe not, but why..." Trip paused. Better not to go down that path until _after_ the hangover dissipated. Even as the thought crossed Trip's mind, Phlox  
returned to his bedside with a container filled with a clear fluid.

"That's not - " Trip began.

"No, no, Commander. This is strictly a product of the time-honored mold and larvae school of medicine that goes back to the discovery of penicillin.

"Just be a good patient, and drink it down."

The words "mold" and "larvae" caused Trip's left eye to twitch, but he reminded himself that no slugs were involved and reached for the container.

As Phlox looked on, Trip chugged the entire dose, then broke into a grin.

"My God! That's like fresh peaches!"

"And you were so worried..." the doctor's smirk (one side of his mouth turned up into the V-shape he made when smiling) was vaguely disquieting.

<I hope I get used to that, someday,> thought Trip, even as the pain in his head and the shakes in his belly began to, miraculously, recede.

"Thanks, Doc," he said. "That was quick! I feel like a million bucks!"

"All part of the service, Commander. But you're still not cleared for duty. It'll be at least forty-eight hours before you are physically up to the demands of your job."

"Nonesense," replied Trip, as he slid out of bed. "I should be...AAACK!"

He been attempting to stride, purposefully, out of sickbay, but the pain that shot up his legs, turned his strides into a very undignified shuffle.

"I'm sorry, but I did tell you."

"What the hell...?"

"Your legs were almost frozen. Worst frostbite I've ever seen, in a human - and Mr. Reed wasn't much better. I could call someone to escort you to your quarters, if you like...?"

"I think I can handle it, Doc. But I definitely won't be hitting the gym for a few days."

"Hitting the gym? What colorful colloquialisms you humans have. Just remember to not add extra heat to your legs, and once you reach your quarters, stay off your feet until tomorrow - you probably won't be able to handle any more exercise until then."

"Gotcha. Just clear one thing up for me, wouldya?"

"Certainly."

"T'Pol checked in on me _twice_ more last night?"

"Yes, indeed. Though Mr. Reed certainly wanted to believe otherwise, she stood beside your bed for several minutes, each time. And, no. She didn't say anything."

"I don't get it," muttered Trip. <Or maybe I do.>

* * *

As Trip approached the lift, its door slid open. Within, stood T'Pol.

"Hey, T'Pol. Thanks for checking in on me," he said as he shuffled, painfully into the lift.

"Excuse me, Commander?"

"Dr. Phlox tells me that you came into sickbay twice, last night, to see how I was doing. I appreciate it."

"It is in an officer's best interests to make certain that those who serve with her are fit for duty."

"C'mon, T'Pol. That's so much hooey!" Trip laughed and T'Pol's face became a very slightly deeper shade of green.

"I don't understand," she replied, evenly.

"T'Pol! There's nothing wrong with what you were doing, but don't try to rationalize it away as the actions of a conscientious officer."

The lift came smoothly to a halt. Even the minimal resulting grav shift made Trip wince. T'Pol reached out to steady him.

"What, exactly, are you saying, commander?" T'Pol's tone and phrasing couldn't  
have been more formal, but there was something behind her eyes that dared him  
to make his next statement.

"I'm just sayin' that friends check on friends' well-being. That's all."

"Friends." The word sounded foreign coming from her, but she seemed to be tasting it, evaluating it and deciding if she could live with it.

Trip started to shuffle through the door into the corridor, but, for some reason, he was finding it more painful than before. His groan of pain, was clearly audible.

T'Pol stepped out beside him, and took his arm. The extra lift she provided, was more than enough to help Trip get himself back in motion.

"Thanks, T'Pol, but you don't have to — "

T'Pol cut him off.

"C'mon, Commander," she said, deliberately echoing Trip's earlier comment. "Surely, friends can help friends without protest?"

"Sure. Alright. Much obliged." He chuckled.

"Two things, Commander. First, if a friend helps a friend, why is there an assumed obligation? And second, what is amusing you?"

"Well, T'Pol, the first is a matter of manners. Etiquette, pure and simple. It is rude to not acknowledge a kindness, whether or not that kindness is expected to be returned.

"And second, I don't think you should use certain kinds of contractions, especially slang contractions. They just aren't you. And, of course, only a friend could tell a friend something like that..." he trailed off.

A few minutes later, Trip was safely ensconced in his own bed, and looking through his collection of entertainment data cards.

He fell asleep before he could choose something to read...

* * *

Trip awoke to the sound of his door chiming. He rubbed his eyes and looked up.

"Come in."

The door slid open and a perfectly poised T'Pol swept into the room, carrying a small plate, on which reposed a large slab of pecan pie.


End file.
